


Take It From Me

by static_abyss



Series: Soul Marks [3]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Aromantic, Everybody Lives, F/F, Gen, Soulmate-Identifying Marks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-09
Updated: 2015-09-16
Packaged: 2018-04-13 19:59:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,868
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4535352
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/static_abyss/pseuds/static_abyss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Malia collects kisses. And family.</p><p>A series of interconnected Malia-centric fic set in my soul mark au.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is very much a love letter to erialeduab's [maybe that's just not the way for us](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3861013). Specifically to the third chapter of that fic. I highly recommend reading the fic, and for the love of everything, definitely read chapter three. Like, if you do nothing else for the rest of your life, at least read chapter three.

Malia, seventeen, stands in front of the floor length mirror in her bathroom. She's just gotten out of the tub, her hair still wet and dripping down her back, the heat from her shower fogging up the mirror. She wipes her hands over the mirror, smearing the water droplets together, catching her reflection in the surfaces she cleans. She has a tan line along her shoulders and her legs are lighter than the rest of her skin. She turns in front of the mirror, lifting her hair above her head just to make sure she can see every bit of skin. 

She doesn't have a single mark. Not one.

-

Kira's marks loop around her ankles, twin markings with words that don't match. One set says, "is that obsidian" and the other, "you love her." Malia has followed the curve of every letter, the way the words stretch out to form a single loop, the placing the same on both ankles. The letters are dark gray, dark enough to be immediately noticeable, but not as dark as the mark on Allison's right upper arm, or Lydia's mark on her left wrist. 

Malia can't tell where Scott's mark is, so she thinks it has to be somewhere under the layers he wears. Stiles's mark is on his right hand, but Malia hasn't seen it because Stiles guards it as though afraid that if other people see it, it will disappear. Malia doesn't ask why, though Stiles would tell her if she asked. Malia would be the same way, if she had her own mark.

"You stare at us a lot," Lydia says, once, in their art class.

Malia is standing close to Lydia, her hair falling onto Lydia's shoulders. She's watching the different colors, the slashes of darker shades over the lighter ones, the way Lydia's hand shifts on the brush with each new stroke. She's warm where she presses back against Malia's front, her fruity perfume strong in Malia's nose. 

"I don't have a mark," Malia says.

Lydia holds still, and Malia waits. Lydia doesn't move, and Malia leans back to frown down at her. Lydia raises an eyebrow.

"What?" Malia asks.

"You don't have a mark," Lydia says. "Neither does Derek. But he doesn't stare at us the way you do."

Lydia's voice is the sweet thing it always is, half innocent, half wickedly dismissive. Malia is barely a junior, and only just beginning to understand how each person in Scott's pack works. She can tell that Lydia is genuinely curious, even though she leans further back into Malia. The smell of citrus in her strawberry blonde hair is also distracting. 

Malia doesn't know how to read Lydia's body language, yet, because she's found that what Lydia says with her body can sometimes mean the opposite of what she really wants. 

"You smell," Malia says, because it's true.

Lydia turns around, offended, but before she can say anything, their art teacher walks by. She sends Malia back to her easel, and lingers over Lydia's painting.

"Sadness?" the teacher asks.

Lydia turns to look right at Malia. "Loneliness," she says. 

The teacher nods, like she can see what Lydia is talking about, and moves away. The teacher says nothing about the single slash of soft red on Malia's paper. 

"I'm not lonely," she says to Lydia after class.

Lydia's locker is right outside of the art class, three lockers from the door, on the top section. She puts her hand, nails perfectly manicured, on the lock, but doesn't turn it. 

"You're standing too close," Lydia says, turning in the small space between the lockers and Malia.

Malia looks down right into Lydia's eyes. They're far away enough that they're not sharing the same air, but when Lydia moves her weight from one foot to the other, their knees brush against each other. 

"Do you want me to move?" Malia asks, because she genuinely doesn't know if she's supposed to.

She has been back as a human for a little over a month and habits die hard. She still talks too much about running in the forest, hunting rabbits, about dirt under her claws, and the way people smell. She doesn't know what is going on in class about eighty percent of the time, and even with Stiles and Scott helping her study, Malia isn't sure she'll pass junior year. She doesn't even know how she managed to get placed into junior year. The only reason she bothers is because her dad asked her to try.

Malia is trying, she really is, even with all the information the teachers throw at her, and the constant noise of students moving from class to class. She can't hear them now, oddly enough, not with Lydia's hazel eyes boring into hers. 

"My painting wasn't about you," Lydia says, pursing her lips a little, as though pushing the words out. 

Malia goes still as Lydia reaches out to touch Malia's neck. Part of her wants to bare her teeth and back away, and part of her wants to press into the soft skin of Lydia's palm. The last of the background noises fade away, as Lydia moves forward, and there's a second, before Lydia tucks her face into Malia's neck, where all of Malia narrows down to Lydia's understanding eyes.

Then, Lydia's face is against Malia's neck, and she's warm, and small, her body slotting right into Malia's. Lydia's lips are cold against Malia's throat, and the jut of her hipbones press into the spot just below Malia's thumbs. Malia's hands are shaking, her fingers digging into the back of Lydia's waist, until Lydia reaches behind her and moves Malia's arms into a proper hug.

 _I'm lonely_ , Malia thinks, and it's not so bad, admitting it to herself.


	2. Chapter 2

Scott's words are "does it hurt," almost as though they're painted onto his side, messy handwriting, but sure lines and angles, each letter connecting to the one after it, as though the entire world took pause to make the words perfect. Scott lights up when he shows his words to Malia, both of them sitting on his bed, in the darkness of his room. The full moon is two nights away, and Malia can feel the restless energy underneath her skin. But Scott's smile is calm, his gaze steady. He gives off waves of tranquility, as though the mark on his side can give him that, as though maybe, this is what Malia is missing.

"It's Stiles, right?" Malia asks.

She does not understand holds like these, like she doesn't really understand Scott's stubbornness to put everyone else before himself. She respects him for it, but she will never understand, not fully.

Scott smiles at her. "It's Stiles," he says.

Neither of them mention how Scott is seeing Kira, or how neither of Kira's marks have turned yet. She does not need to, because what Scott is doing, Malia understands. Marks mean nothing above actions, above instinct and intuition. 

"What does it feel like?" Malia asks. "To love someone like that?"

Scott doesn't ask her to clarify, but Malia didn't think he would. In this way, too, they understand each other. 

"Love is different for every person," Scott says.

Malia nods, turns her whole body towards Scott. He pulls his shirt down and turns to her too, his brow furrowed in concentration. He takes his time to speak, as though each word is as carefully formed as each letter of his mark. 

"You love every person differently," Scott says. He frowns, but Malia knows he's not mad. "There's the way you love your mom or dad," he says.

"Yeah," Malia nods. "I know about that. I'm talking about the other kind."

She pauses to think. Malia understands the word "love," the idea of it. She knows what she feels for her father, the tenderness and desire for happiness. She loved her mother and her sister. But she never understood the kind of love branded onto people's skin. 

She can see the curves of dark gray or black letters, the careful slopes of phrases on skin. She traced Lydia's marks last year, when they were juniors. But Malia doesn't have a mark, so she does not understand, not really, that kind of love.

"Imagine wanting to be there for somebody all the time," Scott says, but he's frowning this time, as though maybe he can't find the right words. "Like you would do anything to make sure the person you love is happy."

"Yeah," Malia says. "I understand that, but I don't _get_ it."

She feels wrong in her skin, as though she shouldn't be there, as though maybe the pull of the moon is stronger this month. She itches to let go of the control she has wrapped around herself. Malia wants dirt under her nails, embedded into her skin, and in her hair, like when she and her sister would get into play fights out in their backyard. She wants to run and leave behind the knot in the center of her chest that is always there, no matter how hard she tries to understand things.

"I don't belong here," she says, forgetting that Scott's there with her. 

She remembers him when he moves closer to her. Malia's body tenses without her permission, every one of her muscles ready for a fight that isn't coming. She is safe here, her mind reminds her, but her body takes longer to control.

"Hey," Scott says, and his hand is warm on Malia's arm.

She looks into his dark brown eyes. Already she can feel her body listening, her shoulders slumping. He is her alpha, but more than that, Scott McCall is her friend. 

"You know you belong here," he says.

"I know," Malia tells him.

But there is the same emptiness in her chest, something so hollow it feels cold when she cares to focus on it. It's been there since she changed back into a human, since she moved in with her father, and sorted through the box of things that used to belong to her mother and her sister. It's there when she goes to class and can't remember how to do pre-calculus. It's there every time she sees a black or dark gray mark, every time she sees Scott and Kira smile at each other.

"You belong here, Malia," Scott says, again. 

This time he waits until Malia looks at him, until she can see for herself how serious he is about what he's saying. 

"Lydia thinks I'm lonely," Malia says.

She remembers citrus shampoo and Lydia's lipstick on her neck. Malia's hands itch to feel hipbones underneath them. Her chest aches with the memory of warmth and closeness, of hands around her that were sure of what they wanted. She wants Lydia's whispers against her neck. Not Lydia exactly, but just the feeling, the hands and the way everything quieted to just the two of them.

"Is love like loneliness?" Malia asks.

Scott smiles at her, sweet, the way he always does. He takes her right hand first, brings it up to his face and kisses the back of it. Then, he lifts the left one, kisses it too, and pulls her into a hug.

"Love can be like being alone," he says, holding her tighter. "But love is more like pain that gets better the more you let go."

 _How_ , Malia wants to ask. 

But the words don't come out, and instead of letting go, she holds Scott tighter.


	3. Chapter 3

Malia recognizes the fury in Allison's eyes, the way tension lives in each one of her muscles. There is something familiar in the way Allison strings her bow, in the way she goes completely still just before she lets go. Allison calls herself a protector, but Malia would recognize a hunter even if it was dressed as a rabbit.

She should stay away, but Allison is the first person Malia has met, who feels familiar. Allison could almost be home, if Malia were still inclined to think the way the coyote in her thinks. She is better about controlling herself now, even as senior year ends, and she doesn't let herself miss the forest too much anymore. But whenever Allison is near, it's as though everything in Malia goes back to the end of the summer, before junior year. It's as though Allison too, is a step away from wild, as though if Malia gets too close, they'll both fall.

"Are you afraid of me?" Allison asks her, once. 

Malia looks at Allison's beautiful face, at the sharp corners of her cheekbones, and the fists she holds at her side. 

"I don't know," Malia says. 

Allison smiles wide enough that Malia could lose herself in those dimples. "I'm not afraid of you," Allison says. 

"You should be," Malia tells her. "I was raised wild."

"Yeah," Allison says, stepping closer. "But then, so was I."

She takes Malia's hand, turns it so that Malia's wrist is up in the air. The kiss is barely there on Malia's wrist, so soft, it might as well be air. But Allison holds it, as though to remind both of them that even wild things can be gentle.

-

When Malia graduates high school, Liam Dunbar runs up to her in the middle of the flood of students rushing to the auditorium doors, and kisses her right on the lips.

"I'm sorry," he says, face reddening in a way Malia finds endearing. "I mean...Congratulations. I'm sorry. Please don't hurt me."

She laughs, something warm bubbling in the center of her chest. It's not love, not loneliness, but something almost akin to happiness. 

"It's okay," she tells Liam. 

And for the first time, in a long time, it is.


	4. Chapter 4

**found soul mates. need help. sos. so much sos.**

The text comes in at midnight, on a Monday, when Malia is just relaxed enough to go to sleep. She has a job interview tomorrow that Allison set up for her, and even if it doesn't go through, Malia is just warm enough that she would rather stay in bed. 

**i need you, please.**

Kira's messages blink at Malia from her phone screen, and if it were anyone else, Malia would go back to bed.

 **where are you?** she texts back.

 **school** , comes the reply.

Malia finds Kira sitting against the last row of lockers, at the end of the hallway leading to the front door of the school. Malia sits down next to Kira, their shoulders brushing. Kira says nothing, but Malia knows she will, when she's ready. They sit together, Malia staring at the light bulbs on the ceiling, one off, one on, one off, to conserve energy. The school hasn't turned its lights off since people started dying there.

"So you found your soul mates," Malia says, finally, when Kira turns to look at her. "But you're not with them?" 

Kira pulls her knees closer to her chest and rests her head on top of her arms. Her long hair hangs over her arms on either side, dark and shiny in the yellow light of the hallway.

"They were already together for a long time before we found each other," Kira says, her smile sad but fond. "And even if they weren't dating the whole time, they knew they were soul mates. And even if they already knew me when they started dating, we didn't know it was the three of us. And finding out in the middle of the Hale property, while we were trying not to die, caught us off guard."

"So you don't fit?" Malia asks, stretching out her legs in front of her. She leans forward, reaching for her toes to ease the pressure on her lower back. They've been sitting a while. 

Kira watches her. Malia can tell because there's a warm prickling at the back of her neck. But Kira talks on before Malia can let her know she caught her.

"That's not it," Kira says, something fragile in her voice. "We fit. I _feel_ it. And this," she sticks her feet out enough so that Malia can see the black letters on her ankles. "This means we're meant to be together."

"But?"

Kira sighs, soft and cut off. When Malia sits up again, Kira looks like she might cry.

"We don't know how the three of us fit _together_ ," Kira says, her voice so low Malia has to lean in.

Kira leans against Malia's arm, her entire right side warm where it presses into Malia's left side. Kira doesn't move away, and Malia is never warm enough.

"I always thought that when I found them, I would have to choose," Kira whispers. "I thought I'd have to say no to one of them, and that hurt enough already, because I think I loved one of them more than the other. I didn't even think that they might say no to me."

Malia slides her back down the wall until she can put her head on Kira's shoulder. She has to cross her legs to get comfortable, and the new position pushes her body away from Kira. Malia works her arm in between the space underneath Kira's arm, where she has it wrapped around her leg, and puts her hand on Kira's right knee, near Kira's left hand. Neither of them move for a while, both adjusting to how intimate the position is, even though they're touching less.

Malia breathes as the world narrows down to all the places she's touching Kira. The constant, quiet stream of new sounds, of new smells, of mostly irrelevant information, disappearing. She is safe here.

" _Is that obsidian_ is much cooler than _you love her_ ," Malia says. "Allison's band doesn't sound like an accusation."

Kira flinches. "It's not an accusation," she says.

"But it sounds like one," Malia says. "You can't really take it any other way."

"She didn't say it like an accusation," Kira says. "She was just saying it."

"Okay," Malia says. "But even if she was just saying it, it's still a pretty shitty thing to have on your skin."

"I love them," Kira insists.

"Hey," Malia says, nudging Kira's shoulder. "I'm not saying you don't. I'm just saying, it's not wrong to love one more than the other."

Kira looks at her then, her gaze steady. "There's nothing wrong with loving no one, either," she says.

Malia smiles. "Who says I don't?" she asks. 

Kira goes quiet, her whole body stilling as she lets their eyes meet. Their arms are still entwined, so Malia can feel each shift of Kira's muscles. They don't move, and it's almost as though the air around them stops moving, as though sounds disappear, and all that's left between them is heat so heavy, it's almost a tangible thing. Malia leans forward, gravity and instinct still things she trusts above everything else.

"I can't," Kira whispers, turning away.

Malia says nothing as she concentrates on Kira's body language, the scent in the air.

"But you want to," Malia says when she's sure. 

Kira is quiet, her cheeks red with embarrassment. She's not the kind of girl to betray something as powerful as a soul mark. But Malia doesn't have a soul mark, doesn't know loyalty the same way. Malia was alone for ten years. She survived, and she will never form a bond with another human quite the same way. 

Malia will always want to survive first, will always be a step behind the rest of them, just a little wilder, a little rougher. It's best for her, to live alone. She feels better that way, when she owes nobody anything, when it's just her father and her pack, a familiar home that asks for nothing in return.

"I don't understand pop culture," Malia says, frowning as she tries to remember if that's the right word. "I don't know what soul searching is, and I hear, _oh my god how haven't you seen that_ , so often I want to hit someone."

Kira looks at her, finally. "Soul searching is when someone goes on a trip to find their soul mate."

"Yeah, I know that, now," Malia says, pauses to take a breath. "I don't have a mark."

"I'm sorry," Kira says, so quiet Malia has to tilt her head Kira's way.

"I'm not," Malia says. "I didn't ever have one, like I didn't ever watch Bridesmaids, or the new Spiderman movies. I don't want to have one. It's messy and annoying. And why do people pay detectives to find their soul mates? I don't get it. I don't know if I'll ever get it. Does that make sense?"

Kira stares out at the space in front of them, the empty high school hallways unrecognizable without someone running down the halls. They haven't had any supernatural creatures attacking the school in almost a month.

"You probably don't want to hear about speed dating then," Kira says, finally.

Malia raises an eyebrow, curious.

"You go to these bars, or an alcohol free place, if you're underage or whatever," Kira says, smiling at Malia. "You get paired up with someone and you say each other's words, and if the words don't change, you move on to the next person."

"That doesn't sound like it'd work."

Kira shakes her head sadly. "It doesn't."

They stay still, together, another moment. Malia trying to get the phrasing right for what she wants to say next. "I don't love you," she says. "And I know you don't love me."

Kira looks away.

"But you're lonely," Malia goes on. "And everything for me is always loud, so in my face. I feel like everyone wants me to learn everything, all at once. Like it's just so easy to become someone completely different, when it's barely been two years. Like I still don't sometimes miss hunting, or running in the woods. I just--"

Malia breaks off, her hands fists on her knees. She drops her hands, wraps them around her legs, and pulls them closer to her chest.

"You just want it all to stop."

Malia nods. "Just for a while," she says to her arms.

"And you don't love me?" Kira asks, getting on her knees.

She touches Malia's hands, rubs her fists until Malia lets her move them. Kira's hands are warm, her breath, even, as she scoots forward so that her thighs are pressing into Malia's shins. Malia can see the small twist of apprehension at the corner of Kira's mouth.

"I don't love you," Malia says. "Not that way."

Her breath catches as Kira moves forward, their foreheads touching, and Kira's dark hair falling over Malia's face.

Kira's lips are soft and artificially flavored from her chapstick. The taste is unfamiliar, but the feel of hands on Malia's face, and the skin of wrists under Malia's fingers, isn't.

"You don't need a soul mate," Malia whispers into the heat between them. "Take it from me."

Kira doesn't say anything, but she rests her forehead against Malia's, and closes her eyes. And the ache in Malia's chest isn't quite love, isn't quite loneliness, but it fills her with warmth just the same, as though offering comfort is something Malia was born to do.

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Kings by Lauren Aquilina


End file.
